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by Miki Mae
Summary: When Erik returns to seek Charles' assistance in locating Raven, what will happen to the old friends? Erik/Charles, based just after X-Men First Class


**Co-written with Taiga Scarlett ~ enjoy!**

**Warning: Erik/Charles (boy/boy), fluff**

The excited chattering of students and the scuffle of feet drowned the corridors of Xavier's School for Gifted Children in life. A lone figure, quiet and unnoticed, slipped past watchful eyes and past locked doors.

He found himself in the professor's office; it looked exactly as it had been when the man had left. The windows were thrown wide, a light breeze rustling scattered papers. Papers strewn with neat penmanship and perfectly dotted 'i's.

The man felt his lips twitch in amusement, Charles hadn't changed anything here. In fact, the lone figure felt a budding of distress well in his chest at the sight of a chess board positioned in one corner. The pieces frozen in a checkmate. He recalled placing Charles' king in that position and was startled that all stood just as he had left them two years prior.

**X-X-X**

_Tedious…time consuming…_

Charles sighed and pursed his lips. He had to somewhat agree with the architect on that thought. He felt as if this meeting _was_ indeed a waste of time. He had better things to do than hear the man's personal thoughts on cripples. After informing him for the third time that there should be ramps and railings in the new wing, Charles found himself rolling his eyes at this whole situation.

"Perhaps," Charles pauses, watching as the man is drawn away from his thoughts, becoming aware that Charles had spoken. "We should continue this at a time when you're in a better state of mind."

The architect's face bleaches white and he splutters in fury, "Excuse me?" _You're the disabled one!_ "What do you know of my state of mind?"

Charles can hardly suppress the smile that slips across his face and has the feeling that he looks manic in that moment. Slowly he leans forward and places a hand over the architect's. "Your face, my dear friend, is an open book." Professor Charles Xavier finds slight pleasure in the way Mr Michaels face turns bright crimson in a blink of an eye.

Once he had wheeled himself out the office Charles looks to the right. "Alex," Havoc rises from a neat, cushioned chair, quickly throwing aside an old magazine. "Reschedule our appointment for later this week," He cocks his head, "Mr Michaels should be free on Friday at three."

**X-X-X**

Arriving back at the school, Charles slips his arm around Alex's shoulder and gracefully accepts the boy's assistance from car to wheelchair.

"You're getting heavy, Professor." Havoc comments with a small smirk.

Charles lifts an eyebrow and gives an answering smile. "Or maybe you're getting old,"

Alex snorts as he rearranges Charles' legs in the chair. "Look who's talking,"

They fell into a companionable silence as Alex wheeled the chair into the school. The professor lifts the architectural layout plans and briefly scans it as they walk.

Almost instantly he is bombarded with multiple thoughts, a weight he wouldn't have been able to take a few years ago, but now considered comforting when he opened his mind to the school's occupants. Thoughts of at least 50 students' mathematics, biology and science classes echoed through his head; with an added sprinkling of romantic daydreams on the side. He'd become somewhat used to the constant buzz of Hank's medical jumble and the pleasant hum of the music teacher's mind on the third floor; so much so that he felt lonely when he left the school.

But for some reason, today the sounds did not soothe his addled nerves. In between lectures on cellular respiration and an explanation of Pythagoras' theorem, it was almost as if Charles could feel an old friend's presence. _Erik_, his mind supplied the name with a wistful sigh and made his chest ache.

"Good morning, Professor!"

Charles blinks himself out of his thoughts and lowers his arms with the architectural plans to his lap. A smile blossoms over his lips, "Good morning, Mathew,"

"Mornin', Professor,"

"Good morning, Joseph," Charles replies, turning his head and giving the teenager a pat on the hand he placed on Charles' shoulder.

The children hurry off to class and a smile lingers on Charles' lips in fondness. Barely a moment later Charles is assaulted with a familiar cry of surprise and a quick follow up of "Proffessor! Professor! _Professor_!"

The smile turns into an amused grin, "Susan, you sound chipper this morning."

A small blonde girl spirals into Charles' view and all but throws herself on his lap. "Professor, you're back! I have to show you something!" She reaches out an arm and small little wisps of fire flames from her finger tips, she shoves them in Charles' face. "Look what I can do!"

A chuckle rumbles from the professor's throat and he gently folds her fingers into her palm, the fire dies with a peaceful sizzle. "That's lovely, dear, but be careful not to catch the drapes alight."

"Oh, okay! Thank you, Professor!" She gushes excitedly and with a dazzling grin she skips off down the hall.

Behind Charles Alex gawfes and, although Charles feels he should scold Alex for his amusement, he doesn't. Instead he remains quiet as the boy takes him to his office.

Just as they reach it, a little girl – only nine – comes scrambling down the corridor, her dark eyes focused on her shoes. Charles knows how nervous she can be so when her eyes dart over him before settling on Havoc he feels somewhat warm and special for the light attention never granted to him before.

"Alex," Clair addresses in her soft, sing-song voice and her eyes light up. "Uncle Hank wants to see you about the S-c-cer-cerebellum, ah… Cerebrum?" Her small face crumbles in confusion and she looks at Alex with pleading eyes.

"Cerebro?" Alex askes and Charles almost laughs at the way the boy's voice softens and becomes reassuring.

"Yes!" Clair exclaims and immediately places a hand over her mouth; a chuckle slips past Charles' guard and the girl flushes before smiling hesitantly, "Sorry,"

"It's alright," Charles assures, "Alex?"

"Professor?"

"I'll get to the office on my own,"

"Are you sure?"

"Very," Charles winks at little Clair and she looks back down at her shoes, extending an expectant hand to Alex. "Hurry along, you don't want to keep Hank waiting now,"

Havoc slips from behind the wheel chair and gingerly takes Clair's hand. As they move away Charles feels his heart swell at how the child moves closer to Alex's side.

_We're doing something good here,_ Charles thinks belatedly. "At least for some of us,"

He turns the chair and begins to wheel his way to his office door. While he is reaching for the keys in his pocket, Charles becomes aware of the gap between the door and frame. His brows dip into a concerned frown. "I'm sure I locked up,"

With mild caution Charles reaches for the handle and pushes the door slightly ajar. He doesn't want to use his telepathy; he doesn't want to use his gift for some stupid superstition. Charles _does_ feel stupid, he probably just forgot to lock up in his haste, he decides. It comes as a shock to him when he opens his door and finds an intruder. Apparently his superstition wasn't as stupid as he had thought. It was…a pleasant surprise, if not a completely unexpected one.

"Charles,"

"Erik," Damn if Charles could hear the loneliness and pain of Erik's absence in that one spoken word.

Erik turned his head slightly and, although Charles knew his friend was looking at him, it seemed like he couldn't see him. For the first time in the last two years, Charles felt insecure about being in a wheelchair.

"I see Hank is doing well, Alex too it seems,"

Charles forces himself to pay attention to the documents in Erik's hand rather than the snide comments resting on the tip of his tongue. He could ask about Angel and the others, but he doesn't, it feels too raw still. "They are," Charles confirms softly and puts his hands on the wheels before reconsidering moving closer to Erik and folds his hands in his lap instead. He lets out a deep breath to calm the sudden thumping of his heart. "What are doing here, Erik?" _Why did you have to leave?_

Erik places the papers down and looks at Charles semi-detached. Charles forces himself not to comment on the man's lack of metal helmet. Did this mean Erik trusted him? Was it a trap?

"Have you seen Raven recently?"

Charles frowns, his hands curling tighter against each other. "No, is she alright?"

After a silent pause, Erik pushes to his feet. "You can't lie to me, Charles. Tell me, is she here?"

The frown on Charles' forehead deepens and he shakes his head, his chest curiously tight. "She isn't. Erik, what aren't you telling me? What's happened?"

"Nothing," Erik almost snarls and Charles straightens as much as he can in the wheelchair in defence. They stare at each other.

"Tell me," he murmurs quietly, feeling like nothing could break past that barrier anymore as Charles had broken through it so many years ago. What had Erik done in the last two years that a barrier had been re-erected to protect him?

Erik's lips tighten and when he starts towards Charles the shorter sucks in a sharp breath. But Erik walks right past him and Charles struggles to turn the chair around fast enough to follow him down the corridor. A finger catches in the spokes and Charles curses at the sudden jolt of pain. "Erik!" he cries out in alarm as the man moves away.

Erik's step falters, but he doesn't stop.

"Erik!" Charles screams louder and pushes himself as fast as he can in a mad attempt to catch the other. His fingers sting from the traction and air rushes from his throat. "Please!" He doesn't care that some of the classes will hear him, will probably come see if he was in trouble.

"What?" Erik snarls as he spins to face Charles, the shorter barely catches himself and stops the wheel chair in time to not slam into Erik full force.

"Please," he gasps and presses a hand over his trembling chest, he looks up at Erik with wide eyes. "She's my sister…"

"Raven's fine… _Mystique_ is fine," Eric grumbles, he looks away from Charles.

"Who is lying now?" Charles manages to question with a shaky smile.

"Are you in my head again?" Erik thunders, his face tightening and turning slightly red and he looks back at Charles in accusation.

"I'm not," Charles insists, raising a hand in defence, "But I know you, Erik. Please tell me, I don't want to have to break my promise,"

Erik scowls, "She's fine-"

"Stop it! Stop…lying," Charles' voice breaks and his grits his teeth. Why did this all have to be so hard? Why did Erik have to make it so difficult when it could be so _easy_? Without another thought, Charles raises his hand up to his temple and he sees realisation cross Erik's face, a moment too late. By the time Erik storms forward to yank Charles' hand from his head, Charles' mouth drops open and he willingly let's Erik move the limb. "Where did she go?" he asks in a daze, staring into Erik's eyes.

"I said stay out of my fucking head!"

Vaguely Charles hears a door open behind them, but his mind has travelled far beyond caring. "Where did Raven go, Erik?"

"I told you not to do this," Erik thunders, he shakes Charles arm with more force than necessary. "You swore you wouldn't do that again!"

"Where is she?" Charles cries back in desperation, he hears the growing sound of voices. "What did you do, Erik?"

"Professor?" A soft murmur.

The man seems to freeze, his grip surely leaving bruises on Charles' fair skin. After a moment he straightens, "I- I don't know, Charles, I don't know."

Charles' shoulders drop and he stares at Erik in shock, he knows that expression, that bitterness and pain. Erik cared too, it seemed crazy and maybe a little unbelievable, but Erik was just as frightened as Charles was. Slowly Charles starts to pull his arm to his head, to offer comfort in the only way he knew how.

Erik snarls and yanks it away, the pain quickly replaced by fury. "Stay out of my head! I don't want you there. I'm sick of you doing this,"

Charles can only stare in silence, the sound of voices finally breaking through the fog of his mind. For some strange reason he can't bring himself turn to reassure his students that things were okay…because things _weren't_ okay. His chest felt unusually tight and he recognised the sting of tears at the back of his throat. This wasn't how things were supposed to happen.

_We were supposed to laugh and shake hands, as if the past was just that, the past. We were supposed to sit and enjoy a game of chess, and I would occasionally cheat by reading your mind, because I know how you'll roll your eyes and snort when I do that. You'd push my wheelchair around the gardens and make stupid jokes about my not being able to use my legs and I'd let you because you're my best friend and there's no way you'd mean them_.

Slowly Charles' teeth start to chatter, which is strange because he isn't in the slightest bit cold. His chest rises and falls as he drags in air and he wonders for a moment if this is a belated panic attack he'd been putting off for two years. Somehow he manages to yank his hand from Erik's iron-like grip and starts to wheel himself around the man, feeling oddly numb in that moment.

"Professor?"

Charles barely turns his head to acknowledge whichever student had addressed him. Usually he could tell them apart without having to even see them, but his mind was curiously blank. "Go back to class," he utters quietly and rolls himself out the door, his wake followed by the sound of teachers ushering students back into their classes.

The sun hits his face and he swears it's the burn of the sharp light that brings tears to his eyes, but even he can't lie to himself. The path from door to driveway has never felt so long in his life, and by the time gravel crunches under his wheels his shoulders are shaking with the sobs raking through his body. His hands tremble too much to move him any further, so he stops and lets the pain flow through his every atom.

He hadn't expected it to hurt so much, especially as the beginning had been rather easy to get through, but it was like all the pain increased tenfold in two short moments. For the life of him, Charles couldn't contain it anymore. He was sobbing as he should have been when the bullet hit his spine, he was sobbing as he should have been when Erik left him and when Raven chose to follow. His body was experiencing so much agony he was sure he was dying this time for sure.

Charles lifted his hands and pressed his palms firmly against his temples; hating, _hating_ his stupid mutation, hating his disability, hating having to be strong and comforting the whole time. He hated it all; hated having to be born into this insanity. Most of all, he hated himself for letting Erik and Raven leave, hated not being there to save all the mutants who he'd taken into his care.

He pressed his palms tighter and tighter against his skull until it started to pain, as if he could somehow shove his telepathy from his mind by sheer force alone. He was so tired of being trapped with this abnormal brain and could no longer stand the fears it awoke in him. A raw cry formed on his lips and quickly mutated into a scream that made his eyes clench closed and the voices in his head die down into simpering, terrified embers of their previous glory. The sound was so excruciating and grief-stricken that it could have earned _him_ the name of Banshee.

Fingers curled around the wrists of Charles' hands, dragging his fists away from his head with difficulty. "Damn, Charles, stop it," the quiet imploration didn't penetrate the Professor's mind and Erik shook him slightly, "Quiet down, they'll think I'm murdering you!" he said with the slightest bit of force, but again it garnered no response. "SHUT UP!" He tightened his hold for a moment before letting go of Charles' wrists, he lifted his hands and gently cupped Charles' chin in his hands, forcing the man's mouth closed to dispense with the shrieking.

A high pitched whine passed though Charles' clenched teeth and Erik blinked back his own tears of remorse. "Charles," he whispered softly, his throat aching around the word. "Charles, please,"

Slowly the sound turned into quiet sobs and the creases around Charles' eyes faded into a tired frown, his lips dipped down and his chest continued to shake. Hesitantly Erik leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Charles' chest, his knees bumping against the man's feet as he lowered himself to the ground. "I'm sorry, Charles, I'm really, so very sorry. I'm so sorry," he repeated, his eyes burning at the sounds of agony passing just above him.

After several intense minutes of silence Erik felt the slightest pressure of Charles' hand in his hair, he let out a heavy sigh, accepting the gently brush of fingers with quiet dignity. He had somewhat missed his friend's gentleness in their years apart and it brought back fond memories he had stifled behind metal helmets and fighting. His eyes fluttered closed and he allowed himself to breath in the subtle scent of tea and old books that always accompanied Charles. _This is home_. It was silly and he'd still end up leaving again, but for this single moment Erik needed Charles as much as it seemed his friend needed _him_.

"You're warm," Charles comments tenderly and his fingers stroke over Erik's skull in a way that has the man sighing in comfort.

"You smell of old books," Erik replies just as quietly, although he fears it's more because he is enjoying the kind treatment rather than the material of Charles' vest is stifling the sound.

The slightest shaking of Charles' chest suggests that he is amused and Erik struggles to keep an answering smile from his lips, he fails and simply presses closer to his friend to ward off further slip-ups. As Charles' fingers continue to stroke his hair, Erik finds himself relaxing far too much and the gravel of the drive way digs into his knees. He cringes and moves, immediately Charles' fingers retract and Erik feels their loss like a slam to his gut, still he refrains from demanding they be put back.

Erik struggles to stand and places his hands on the wheelchair's arm rests, using them as leverage to pull his body up. His knees buckle precariously and the chair rolls backward, sending him stumbling and he ends up nose-to-nose with Charles in a way that's tempting him to do things he'd never thought he'd want to do to the man. His eyes widen almost comically and he is sure he looks like some bug-eyed creature, because Charles blinks at him once before he bursts out laughing. It's a most pleasant and attractive sound after the man's previous wailing.

Erik snorts, rolls his eyes and pushes himself to stand straight. He watched in satisfaction as Charles continues to snigger and clutch at his chest. Despite his rather red, puffy and tear-streaked face, Erik decides that Charles is handsome…in the strangest and most amusing way possible. He likes to believe himself a straightforward kind of man, but in that moment he wasn't exactly sure what he wanted from the chortling professor, other than to hear that laugh for as long as he possibly could.

A moment passes and Erik's grin starts to fade, though Charles beats him to the words.

"Thank you," Erik stares at the man as if he were completely insane, which could be quite possible, but Charles smiles sweetly and closes his eyes for a brief moment, only to open them again and pin Erik with a penetrating stare, "You didn't have to help me, Erik, but you did."

Erik scowls, "I had to,"

"No," Charles shakes his head, "You did it because you felt responsible. You thought it was your fault that I'm such a mess, which isn't completely unfounded, but you didn't _have_ to do anything. You could have left me as I was." Erik tries to speak but Charles talks right over him, "Whether you want to accept it or not, Erik, I thank you…for still being the friend I had so long ago."

Erik's throat tightens and he shakes his head, "You're an idiot, Charles, always were."

"I know," the man smiles, "But you're sorry you couldn't be here to protect me, that makes it okay."

Warmth, something between amusement and annoyance, lights Erik's chest in flames, "I told you to stay out of my head," the words hold none of their previous bite, they seem almost teasing and Erik for the life of him can't understand why.

"I find it hard to not listen when your mind is practically screaming at me." Charles says as apologetically as he can manage.

The other shakes his head, "Pathetic excuse," but his lips soften into a smile, his heart feels full and ready to explode in contentment and he can only assume it's Charles' fault. He looks down at his friend and a new thought crosses his mind, "I'm sorry,"

Charles blinks owlishly and cocks his head.

"This," Eric waves his hand at the wheelchair, "It was my fault,"

Charles shakes his head, "No, I was stupid to say that to you, you know I never meant it,"

"You did, and you were _right_, Charles. It _is_ my fault, I did this to you. You cannot imagine how much I regret it." Erik steps forward and braces his hands on the arm rests once again, bending to look Charles firmly in the eyes. "You're so short now,"

Charles snorts and shakes his head, "Weren't you the one who kept saying we needed to be proud of how we looked?"

"But I never assumed you'd get shorter,"

"Why does my height matter so much?" Charles questions incredulously, his eyes twinkling in amusement.

"Can you imagine my having to bend down to hug you every time you break down? My back is going to break."

Charles freezes and for a moment Erik thinks he had said something incredibly wrong, his fingers curl a little tighter around the arm rests and finds himself completely unprepared for Charles' next movement. One pale hand rises and grabs at Erik's tie, which he had assumed would be appreciated attire in Charles' presence, and the action has Erik slipping forward once again.

Only this time he finds warm lips pressed lightly against his. It takes him a moment but his hands come up and find Charles' face, his calloused fingers trace over smooth skin and wipe away tear remains. He's not entirely sure why he does it, but he breaks eye contact with Charles and closes his eyes, pressing his lips the slightest bit harder against the other man's.

Erik feels how Charles relaxes and his breath fans against Erik's top lip, he does the next natural thing, "Charles," he says softly.

"Erik," comes the equally quiet reply and the taller takes the opportunity to press Charles' lips open. It might have only lasted for a single second, where they breathed each other's breaths, but Erik's mind buzzed with so much energy and desire it could have lasted a lifetime.

A high pitched whistle has Erik drawing away and snapping his head to the side, Charles' hand slipping from his tie. There, watching them from the roof of the school with Alex and Hank in tow was Cassidy, all of them looking rather smug and amused by the turn of events. They'd been alerted that Charles was in trouble, but hadn't expected things to end up like this.

Erik flipped Cassidy a rather rude hand sign when Banshee let out another whistle. Charles sighed and lifted a hand to his head before anyone could exchange further unsettling signals, and mentally willed the trio to leave them be.

Erik made a soft grumbling sound and when he turned back to Charles he was surprised to find his friend chuckling. "What's so funny?"

"You are, Erik,"

The man rolls his eyes and leans back down to press his nose to Charles'. The shorter's breath catches and Erik smirks, "You really are an idiot, Charles,"

"I could say the same for you," he mutters and starts to chuckle again at the disproval on Erik's face.

"You laugh too much," Charles' brows rise in a show of amusement, "You shouldn't stop," Erik feels Charles release a breath and he knows the man is going to make an attempt to speak, so he continues, "It suits you, must be part of your freaky mutant genes."

Once again Charles takes him by surprise and grabs his tie, a bare ghost of a kiss makes Erik's lips tingle and before he can do anything about it, Charles is wheeling himself away, toward the school.

"Charles?" Erik calls after him.

"I have work to do, Erik,"

Erik extends a hand and is satisfied to hear a yelp from Charles as the wheelchair rises from the ground and finds its way through the air back to Erik. "That is _not_ how you give a good-bye kiss," The metal contraption lingers in the air, Erik takes advantage and leans forward, he captures Charles' mouth in a lingering caress, once again just warm breath and dry lips.

When they part, Charles can still feel the gentle pressure and it bewilders him at how much he had enjoyed it. "So that's good-bye, then?"

Erik pauses, "For now,"

"Very well," Charles smiles sadly, "Could you put me down then, Erik?" Erik complies and once again at ground level Charles attempts to mask his face in seriousness, "You'll search for Raven, won't you?" he receives a nod, "I will as well,"

"I'm not sure you'll find her, she took my helmet," Erik purses his lips. "She's clever,"

Charles' lips twist into a proud grin, "She is,"

"I believe she had a good teacher," Erik says.

"And a good mentor for when the teacher was not there," they stare at each other for a moment and then Charles reaches out a hand, Erik takes it in his. "Be safe, Erik, come back to us soon,"

"To you," Erik mutters softly and he squeezes his friend's fingers, "I'll always come back home,"


End file.
